


The Lightning Strike

by Sam4265



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Because it's more interesting and you know it, F/M, I guess technically a fix it?, Sith Warrior is the child of the Imperial Agent and Vector Hyllus, alien sith, follows canon-ish, rated E for later chapters probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:01:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24704239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sam4265/pseuds/Sam4265
Summary: Aila Hyllus was the only living child of a Joiner and a non-Killik. She was raised on the song of the universe. All her life she could see the deep passionate swirls of electric auras, and yet still she was surprised by the depths of the Sith. She never wanted to be this, this terrifying force of nature, a monster to be feared. The Sith code prioritized passion, and to her passion had always meant love.Discontinued
Relationships: Malavai Quinn/Female Sith Warrior
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	The Lightning Strike

**Author's Note:**

> This is an occasionally canon compliant version of the Sith Warrior storyline with the headcanon that the Sith Warrior is the daughter of Cipher Nine and Vector Hyllus. 
> 
> Title from the Snow Patrol song.

Once, while she was still an apprentice on Korriban, she showed a captured Jedi kindness and he told her it was a shame that the Jedi hadn’t found her first. It reminded her of an argument her parents had when she was little. Aila had always been a soft touch, and they were neither of them pleased with the idea of her becoming a Sith. Her mother said that she was too soft, that she would never have the stomach for the work. Her father, on the other hand, worried that she’d die in the trials on Korriban.

Aila had tried to prove herself to them, she’d even gone to her Aunt Kaliyo and asked her what it was like to kill people. Her aunt had told her gently that it was permanent, that, to quote Aila’s father, their song would end. Aila, who had been raised with the songs of the universe, was horrified by the idea, and she never asked about killing again. 

Regardless, the empire found her, as her parents always knew they would. Certainly the former Cipher Nine could dispose of the wretches who had found out her daughter, but she began to worry that leaving Aila untrained was worse than training her. Vector suggested sending her to the Jedi, but Lorlyia was too morally gray, and Vector too Imperial for that to ever work. 

Instead they sent Aila to Sith Academy. Truly they didn’t see another option.

Throughout her time at the Academy, Aila remained as gentle and naive as she had always been. Though she was the spitting image of her mother, she was truly her father’s daughter. 

It wasn’t until she arrived on Korriban, freshly turned nineteen, that Aila began to see the world for what it truly was. 

Slaves, rival apprentices with a thirst for murder, a kidnapped, tortured, and manipulated jedi knight. The worst of it came when her new Master, Lord Baras, told her to kill Overseer Tremel, a man who had never been anything but kind to her. Instead she cut off his hand and presented it to Baras while Tremel ran. And so Aila managed to avoid killing at first. 

Only the other acolyte, Vemrin, wouldn't leave her alone. He kept sending the other acolytes to kill her. She spared them one by one, even Klemral, Vemrin’s top lackey. She gave him her shards, and in doing so saved his life. It inspired loyalty in him, in all the acolytes she spared, and so she knew that she had made the right decision. 

Only when she went to the tomb of Naga Sadow Vemrin killed Klemral, who had only been trying to help her. Aila felt a rage like never before, a deep and pure hatred for this man who had killed her friend. With an agonized cry she struck Vemrin down, and all at once she understood what her aunt had meant all those years ago. Vemrin’s song was gone from the universe, his voice silenced, the swirling mass of passion and emotion that had once been his form was now gone. And so Aila killed for the first time. She was distraught, her heart bled for fear and sadness. Vette, the Twi’lek slave Aila could barely stand to look at for guilt, watched her quizzically. 

“What’s wrong?” Vette asked finally, seemingly against her better judgement. What was wrong was that Aila had never truly understood what it meant to be Sith, not until this very moment. She hated it. She hated killing, hated the Sith, but she supposed that was what they wanted of her. They wanted her to hate.

“His song has ended,” Aila said in her smallest voice. She knelt by Vemrin’s body and reached out tentatively. His skin was cold, and she felt something inside herself break. Aila closed her eyes and felt the force flow around her, she felt emotion rise up strong and defiant within her. She felt her hatred for Vemrin, for the Sith, for killing, she felt her devastation at Klemral’s death, she felt the absence of the songs. The absence of Klemral and Vemrin. 

“We should uh, we should probably get going,” Vette said awkwardly. Aila opened red rimmed eyes and nodded. 

“Of course, the song continues,” she said. Vette gave her a confused look.

“What’s all this song stuff? Is it a Sith thing?” She asked. Aila shook her head. 

“My father is a Killik Joiner,” she said. “He sees things through the nest. They have a unique way of looking at the world, a view I have inherited, though I’m not part of the nest myself. Every soul is a song, and two have been silenced here today.” 

Vette looked even less certain of her sanity than she had before, but Aila paid her no mind. She simply continued on into the tomb. 

She found the lightsaber, as somehow she always knew she would, only when she clicked it on a blade of soft vibrant violet exploded from the hilt.

“Wow,” Vette said. “I’ve never seen one like that before.” 

Aila studied the blade carefully. It was light and hummed pleasantly, a song all it’s own. It wasn’t alive, but it sang to her all the same. She found she rather liked her lightsaber. 

“Neither have I,” she said. She didn’t have to wait long to test it out, as moments later wrapped, blackened monsters lept from the stone statues, clamouring toward her and Vette with wicked shrieks. Vette yelped and immediately started shooting. Aila, who had been training most of her life for this, flew into the fray of bodies and swept clean across them all with her saber. She cut them down, one after the other, slicing through flesh and bone. These creatures had no song; whatever they were, they weren’t truly alive. 

Aila returned to Baras, but before she could Eskella blocked her way. Eskella, Tremel’s daughter.

“Please, Eskella,” she begged. “Please, your father is alive. I would never have killed him.” 

Eskella scoffed.

“Worse then,” she said. “You’re weak, and now I have to hunt that traitor down and restore the honor to our family name.” 

Fear rushed through Aila like a storm, violent and swirling, raining terror down on her. If Eskella lived, then Tremel would die. 

Aila clicked on her lightsaber and attacked without another thought, she sliced through Eskella’s lackeys, and then she killed Eskella herself. Aila watched the light leave Eskella’s eyes, she watched her song fade away, and Aila cried out as Eskella sighed her last breath. She stepped back, horrified by what she’d done. 

She’d killed twice now. Once out of hatred, and once out of fear. Perhaps she was a Sith after all. 

“You weren’t kidding about the ‘never having killed a person before’ thing, huh?” Vette asked. Aila put her lightsaber away, and rubbed the moisture from her eyes. If nothing else, she couldn’t show weakness before Lord Baras. 

“I don’t lie,” Aila said. 

“Noted.” Vette surely thought she was crazy now. 

Aila had been raised by parents who loved her, who loved each other, who were good and kind and moral (or at least as moral as a former Imperial Intelligence agent and a former Imperial Diplomat turned Killik Joiner could be). She knew nothing of this world, of this darkness, but she had dug herself in too deep, and now she would never be able to escape it. Her only path was forward. 

“Let’s go,” she said. Vette followed her dutifully, not that she really had a choice. The first chance Aila got she was going to free Vette, and damn whatever consequences awaited her for doing so. She had contributed her share to the side of darkness today. It was time to do something for the light. 

Baras met her jovially, made her officially his apprentice, and told her to take the next shuttle to the Imperial Fleet and meet him as soon as possible on Dromund Kaas. 

She and Vette ate in the cantina on the Imperial Fleet. Vette’s eyes kept wandering from one Imperial soldier to the next. 

“You needn’t worry,” Aila said. “They won’t bother you while you’re with me.” 

“But you’re an alien, too,” Vette said skeptically. Aila was half Mirialan, as her mother was Mirialan and her father was technically human. Her skin was fair, but had an undeniable olive tint. In the right light it looked very green. Her eyes were purple and tattoos that mirrored her mothers cut down her cheeks, forehead, and chin. They were simple geometric designs that accentuated her cheekbones and pointed from all directions towards her lips. If looked at quickly, briskly, Aila could appear very human, but upon any close inspection her alien nature would become clear. 

“Yes, but I’m also a Sith, and there’s nothing that terrifies the Imperials more than a Sith.” Aila knew this to be true with absolute certainty. She knew because as she spent time on the Fleet she grew increasingly aware of how many people did their best to stay out of her way. Perhaps it was because she was an alien, but she thought it was more likely the threat of the Sith reputation.

“Well, you’re not wrong about that. This cantina food sucks by the way. I mean, I’m not saying the food on Korriban was better, but it’s not- not better.” 

Aila smiled tiredly at her. “Your aura is bright, Vette. Don’t ever change,” she said. Vette made a face. 

“What the hell is an aura?”

Dromund Kaas was a mess. Aila did her best to limit the devastation, but she could only do so much with Baras watching her every move. Though she tried not to kill anyone else, she was asked to over and over, and sometimes it was unavoidable. The killing never got better, the silencing of songs, the drain of auras, the sudden darkness and silence, it was always terrible, but it became easier to endure. She grew to look past the darkness, and move on quickly from the silence. She could tell Vette approved of her toughening up, though Aila wasn’t sure it was a good thing. She knew she needed to be stronger if she was going to commit to this life, but she’d never wanted to hurt anyone. Still, even her father knew how to fight for those he loved. She could at the very least do that. 

She spared Lord Gratham’s son. He deserved a chance to be better than his father, she thought. Only, days later when she arrived at her ship’s hanger for the first time and was greeted by a mangled assassin with white skin and black eyes, she thought perhaps she’d made the wrong decision. 

“That slimy little son of a Hutt,” Vette hissed as Aila sliced the assassin’s head clean from his body. “You save his miserable little life and what does he do? He sends a mercenary after you! But, I guess that’s the Sith for you. Bunch of assholes.”

Aila looked down at the Sith’s head, cauterized where her blade had touched it. It was white as snow, with black lines extending out from the eyes and mouth. The eyes themselves were a disturbing shade of yellowish orange. This was the corruption of darkness, such darkness as the Sith were famous for. Aila looked down at her hand. It looked a little greener in the light of the spaceport. She vowed right there and then never to let herself become so corrupted that she lost her pigmentation, her only connection to her mother. 

“His song was black and cold,” Aila said. “I’m glad it’s ended.” 

Vette slugged her on the shoulder. 

“There we go! Can’t feel bad for everyone you kill. You’ll go crazy if you do.”

“Yes,” Aila sighed, stepping past the assassin. “Perhaps you’re right.” 

From Dromund Kaas they flew to Balmorra, where everything changed. 

Baras charged Aila to seek out Lieutenant Malavai Quinn, an military man who apparently owed his career to Baras. No doubt Baras had seen Quinn’s career as a nice piece of leverage to hold over his head for all eternity. Aila thought initially that she’d better watch herself in Quinn’s presence; he could very well be Baras’s spy. Only, the moment she met Quinn her heart stopped and she found that any strategy she might have had for him was out the window. 

Quinn was handsome, if a little older. He was stiff and prim. He had blue eyes and two dotted moles below his left eye. Aila was completely entranced. 

His song was unique, strict and rhythmic, endlessly entrancing, full of color and sound. She smiled for the first time since leaving the Imperial Fleet when she met him. She could practically hear Vette roll her eyes when she did. 

He was threatening a soldier when she first saw him, and Aila knew immediately that Malavai Quinn wasn’t like her. He wasn’t light, not really. He was an emphatic soldier, and he staunch Imperial. Loyalty ran deep in him, as clear and permanent as the tattoos on her face. He would do anything for the good of the empire, no matter the cost, no matter the morality. It was terrifying, but perhaps a little intoxicating. To have such loyalty devoted to her would be… incredible. 

“Lt. Malavai Quinn, at your service, my lord.” Oh, she didn’t like that at all. My lord. It made her feel old and weary.

“Just Aila is fine, Lieutenant,” she said. 

“Yes, my lord,” he replied. Vette snorted a laugh, and Aila tried not to sigh. 

“Right, well, brief me on the situation, please, Lieutenant.” 

Quinn briefed her on the utter disaster that was Balmorra. An endless war zone, a planet that the Imperials had technically won, but that was in a constant state of rebellion backed by the Republic. 

They were there to track and kill one of Baras’s spies, a Commander Rylon, currently pretending to serve in the Republic army. Quinn guided her throughout the duration of her stay on Balmorra, and she flirted with him at every turn. He was very resistant to her charms, given that he was so strictly professional. It amused her to no end to watch him turn pink.

They found Rylon eventually, holed up in a Republic base inside the Balmorran Arms Factory. 

“An incursion into the Arms Factory will be a monumental feat. I’m excited by the prospect of you laying waste to that place,” he said as they narrowed in on Rylon. Aila was less excited by the prospect. Balmorra was awash with blood and tragedy, and the song of this world was desperate and dying. It was a horror to behold, and yet still it was awful watching the song end for every person she cut down. 

She didn’t say this though, she wanted to keep the conversation light, wanted to keep Quinn interested and leave a memorable impression should she never see him again. 

“So, I excite you, do I?” She asked, a private little smirk on her face. 

“Well- what I meant was- when I imagine all the ways you will shape the galaxy I get very excited,” he fumbled through his words. His cheeks turned crimson and he looked away quickly. Vette sucked in a breath that Aila knew hid a laugh. 

“Admit it,” she said, smiling again. “You like me, don’t you Quinn?” 

“My lord!” He stuttered. “Is this an appropriate time and place for such an inquiry? You’re putting me in a- a very awkward position.”

“Aren’t your quarters an appropriate place?”

“Um… I grant you that. It’s not the place perhaps, but- um- rather the time that leaves something to be desired.”

Aila tilted her head to the side as she admired the blue of his eyes. 

“You’re right,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to rush it. 

“No- no- nor- nor would I, my lord. May I continue to brief you on the Balmorran Arms Factory?” 

His cheeks were so pink, Aila had to resist the urge to reach out and touch. 

“Your aura grows flush, I understand,” she said. “But I reserve the right to readdress this in the future.” 

Quinn looked oddly at her, and for the first time she wondered if perhaps he truly didn’t like her. If perhaps her alien nature was too much to overlook. 

“That is your prerogative, of course. All right. The Republic command center is deep inside the arms factory.” As he continued Aila finally pulled back. She didn’t tease him any longer, the pull of her insecurity too strong to resist. She thought maybe Vette noticed the way she crossed her arms and shuffled her feet restlessly, but if she did she didn’t say anything. 

Finally Quinn finished his briefing. He told her where to find Rylon and warned her to be wary of the Jedi’s investigator. She thanked him and walked away with no further teasing flirtations. She didn’t look back to see if he was relieved or not. 

“What’s up with you and the suit?” Vette asked as soon as they were out of hearing distance of Quinn’s base. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Aila said evasively. She hurried toward the speeder and Vette kept pace alongside.

“I mean you were practically eyefucking him right there in front of the gods and Baras, and then all of a sudden it’s all yes sir, no sir, whatever you say sir? What gives?” 

Aila shrugged. She hailed a taxi and then looked down at her hands. She studied the green tint of them and then balled them into fists.

“I’m just trying to respect his professionalism,” she said. Vette narrowed her eyes. While Vette had known her to be respectful and deferent to Imperials and Sith alike, it was growing more and more uncommon as of late. Her disastrous experiences on Korriban and Dromund Kaas had begun ripping the deference from her personality. Perhaps she  _ was _ trying to respect Quinn’s professionalism, but Vette knew that was unlikely. 

“No, I call bullshit. What is it?” She asked. Aila stepped lightly inside the speeder taxi and kept her eyes facing forward. 

“You were going on about his aura and his quarters, and then boom! You got all respectable and stuff.” 

Aila stayed quiet, hoping beyond hope that Vette wouldn’t connect the dots. 

“Wait- this isn’t about the aura thing, is it? Are you worried it freaked him out?” 

Aila’s eyes fluttered briefly closed. It was as good as an admission to Vette.

“You are! You’re worried he doesn’t like you because you’re an alien!” 

Aila crossed her arms in her best attempt to keep her heart from pounding out of her chest. Vette sighed. She turned fully to face Aila, and put a hand on the crook of Aila’s elbow. 

“Listen, the Empire- it’s a hard place for people like us. I get the feeling that maybe you haven’t really experienced that yet. People are going to hate you for no reason, but you have to move past it. You’re more powerful than they are, you’re  _ better _ than they are. And not just because you’re Sith, either. You’re better than them because somehow you’re a Sith with a conscience. If Lieutenant Tightass doesn’t like you because you’re green and you talk about songs and auras and stuff, then he’s not worth the oxygen it wastes to talk to him. Got it?” 

Aila could still feel pain in her chest. Her song mellowed, but she was still strong. Vette’s words helped soothe the ache, but didn’t cure it. Perhaps the only thing that could was a frank conversation with Quinn, an understanding of what exactly he did and didn’t like about her. 

It wasn’t as if Aila had never been in a relationship before. She had, a few in fact, but none of them had ever been serious because all of them had been with fellow Sith at the Academy, and there was only so far a relationship could go when you were competing with your significant other for a livelihood. 

“Thank you, Vette,” she said. Vette quirked a smile at her. 

“Say something Aila-ey,” she said. The words were like a balm, soft and warm.

“Your electrons sing when you smile,” Aila said. Vette looked a little taken aback. She cleared her throat quickly and drummed up an embarrassed smile. 

“See? Lieutenant Tightass doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

The Arms Factory was both a success and a failure. A success because Aila accomplished what she was sent to do, and a failure because she had to kill Commander Rylon and all his men. The soldiers were proud and strong, their eyes defiant. Their songs were loud and anthem-like. They would bleed and die for the Republic, and bleed and die they did. 

Commander Rylon was similar to his men. He was strong and devoted, only to the Empire, not the Republic. Aila wanted nothing more than to spare him, to save him this agony. She couldn’t. He wouldn’t let her. She was allowed some kindness, however. She let his men die believing in him, and she had spared his son.

“Tell me, my son, did he…” Rylon trailed off. He must have known in some way the character of his son. The lack of intelligence, the weakness of him. Aila’s eyes grew soft. 

“He held his chin high and accepted his fate with dignity and strength,” Aila assured Rylon. His shoulders slumped, and she could see from the way his aura grew resolute and golden that he was proud. She fought him, as she must, killed him, as she must, but this time when his song was silenced, and the gold faded from sight, she didn’t despair as much as she might have. He died with his song in his heart, and pride in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry you had to do that,” Vette said. “He was a good man, even if he was a spy.” 

Aila turned away from his body, prostrate amongst his soldiers that he so admired. 

“He will be given a hero’s funeral,” she said. “It’s what he deserves.” 

Then Quinn called her on her holo and told her the Jedi’s investigator was herself a Jedi, and was trying to leave through Sobrik spaceport.

“I’m on my way,” she said, dread already seeping in. Killing a Jedi was the very last thing she wanted to do. 

“Come on, Vette,” she said. 

They traveled to Sobrik spaceport as quickly as they were able to and found the Jedi blocked by Imperial customs agents just outside the shuttle. 

“You’re too late, Sith,” the Jedi began. “I already transmitted the conversation between you and Commander Rylon to the Jedi Council. Nomen Karr has his proof. Now Master Karr and his padawan will track down and expose every Sith agent in the galaxy.”

“I can’t let that be true,” Aila said. “I hope you understand. I have my job, as you have yours.” 

The Jedi shook her head. 

“I have purity of purpose. I seek neither thrills nor satisfaction. Unlike you, I am calm.”

Aila wrinkled her nose. She was trying to be reasonable with the Jedi, she had no desire for this encounter to end in a fight, but the Jedi was odd. Rude, perhaps, though more accurately she was cruelly dismissive. She believed Aila to be weak, lesser. It reminded Aila of the way the Imperials spoke to their slaves, and she didn’t like that at all.

“You know nothing about me,” she snapped.

“I know that by the shortcuts you have taken your strength is thin. The dark side shall fail you, Sith. Save yourself. Surrender, and the Jedi Council will give you every opportunity to discover redemption.” 

Aila felt a sort of hurt bubble up inside her. It was an odd thing, really, that to be dismissed by this Jedi, this nameless woman, was so painful for her. In a way it assured everything she’d come to suspect about herself, that perhaps she was broken, and perhaps she was meant to be that way. The Jedi was offering her redemption, but Aila didn’t feel that she needed to be redeemed. She was fighting for her people, as the Jedi was fighting for hers. Perhaps her people were more often cruel than the Jedi’s were, but all people were capable of cruelty no matter their loyalties. 

Aila had never killed without necessity. She had never been unnecessarily cruel, and she had tried to help everyone she could at every opportunity she was afforded. This Jedi was a hypocrite, because what about Aila’s benevolence could require redemption? The Jedi would ask her to kill, same as the Sith did. Perhaps they would even ask it of her more often, since they knew she would be accustomed to it. 

“You know nothing about me and yet you consider yourself above me,” Aila said. “For the sake of my own morality I offer you the chance to surrender. Know that if this comes to a fight, it was because of you, not me.” 

The Jedi didn’t care what she said, Aila could tell. She acted as if she was speaking to a small child, someone to be talked down to and looked over. 

“Surrender is not possible,” the Jedi said. “I am in the right.”

Aila began to realize why the Sith so hated the Jedi. They were incredibly demeaning. 

“I won’t kill you, Sith, but I am leaving. So I’m going to have to incapacitate you.” Her lightsaber burst to life and she leapt at Aila. Aila, with her Mirialan reflexes, was faster, and had her lightsaber ignited and up in defense in half a second. She fought the Jedi with swift, acrobatic moves. She refused to kill the Jedi, however. She wouldn’t prove the woman right. 

Instead Aila tired her out, darting around her, jumping over her head, slashing quickly and deliberately as she went. She could see the Jedi tiring, and finally she got her opening. The Jedi hesitated a moment too long, and Aila threw her back with the force, knocking her into the shuttle and dazing her. 

She collected the Jedi’s lightsaber and stood over her. She looked curiously down at her. 

“Your song is tight and sour,” she said. “You are not as sure of yourself as you think you are. You are not calm, or at peace. The electrons in your aura are angry.” 

“You speak in riddles, Sith,” the Jedi said coldly. 

“I speak as my people speak,” Aila said. “Perhaps you are also not so tolerant as you believe yourself to be.”

“Your victory means nothing,” the Jedi said, cleanly ignoring Aila’s insinuations. “The damage has been done. The proof has been transmitted. So deal the deathblow, Sith. I am at peace knowing that the greater good has been served.” 

Aila simply watched her.

“I may be Sith,” she said. “But at least I’m not a liar.” 

Before the Jedi could respond a collection of feet trampled their way toward them, and at the head of the little band of Imperial soldiers was Quinn, looking sharp and clean as ever.

“I hate to burst your bubble, Jedi. No, that’s a lie. I’m reveling in it.” His grin was sharp and dangerous, and for the first time Aila truly saw the Imperial in the man. “I intercepted your transmission. The Jedi know nothing.”

Aila, unable to help herself, replied truthfully. 

“Quinn, I could kiss you,” she said. 

“I’m only doing my job, my lord,” he said briskly. Aila felt her heart shrink in on itself once again, and she said nothing more. 

“I had her monitored and screened the entire time,” Quinn went on. “There was never any risk at all.” 

Aila looked away from him and nodded tightly. 

“Gloat all you like. It means nothing. I remain at peace, and Nomen Karr and his Padawan will still defeat you.” 

“Lying to me is fruitless, Jedi,” Aila said. “You gain nothing by the effort, and I see the lie in the darkness of your song.” 

“The Force and the Jedi way give me a sense of something larger than myself.” It was almost pitiful to hear. She was trying to make herself believe it. “I am resigned. Strike me down. I offer no further resistance.”

Aila looked pitifully at her. 

“You are subdued, and I am honorable,” she said. “There’s no honor in killing you, weak and defenseless as you are.”

Aila wasn’t sure what was more prominent in the Jedi’s aura, her surprise, or her displeasure. Perhaps she had wanted a quick death. Perhaps she had wanted to die believing she was superior. Perhaps she had simply wanted to be proven right. Whatever the case it mattered not. Aila was not a killer. 

“I will take the wounded Jedi into custody, my lord,” Quinn said suddenly. Aila handed him the Jedi’s lightsaber, and he instructed his men to send her to the main prison. Aila realized the fault in this- in her mercy. Balmorra was at its core a Republic world, and most likely someone would be along to free the Jedi soon. Likely the Jedi would return to the Order and regale them with tales of the cruelty of the Sith she met on Balmorra, but perhaps she would remember her vow of honesty and tell them the truth. Aila found she rather liked the idea of the Jedi knowing there was a Sith out there in the world who was perhaps a better person than one of their own. 

Quinn stepped up beside Aila and watched as his men took the Jedi away. 

“I’m sure you know what you’re doing, my lord, but sparing the Jedi is a curious choice,” he said. Aila felt defensive. She didn’t want to explain her mercy to Quinn, this man who understood mercy as a military strategy and nothing more, but she wouldn’t lie, either. 

“I am not the monster the Jedi would have me be. Besides, there is a certain pleasure that comes from defying their stereotypes,” Aila said. Quinn pursed his lips. 

“Perhaps, but one upmanship doesn’t exactly help the soldiers who will have to fight the Jedi should she become free,” Quinn said. Aila felt like a chastised child. Of course, Quinn only ever thought practically. Perhaps Aila should begin to think more practically. She was her father’s daughter, yes, but her mother was perhaps the most practical woman in the galaxy. Perhaps Aila should start to act more like her. 

“If you want a reasonable explanation then realize that a Jedi investigator will be a wealth of information,” Aila said sharply. 

“Of course, my lord,” Quinn replied immediately. She didn’t like the deference in his voice. She didn’t like that perhaps he was scared of her. She didn’t want to be scary, she’d never wanted to be scary. 

“What matters is the threat has been averted. Lord Baras will be anxious to learn what became of this. When you’re ready I’ll contact him from my office.” Quinn said. 

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” she said quietly. Quinn blinked, surprised that she had called him Lieutenant again, and that she had done nothing more than thank him. He watched her leave with a curious sensation building in his chest, a sensation almost like regret. 

Baras congratulated Aila on a job well done, a murder well committed, and a Jedi well captured. Aila, who was growing weary of Baras and his endless cruel taskmaskering, snapped snide remarks at him while Quinn practically vibrated with discomfort beside her. 

When Baras asked her how Quinn acted during their time together, Aila told him the truth. She said he was vital to her mission, and that she wouldn’t have been able to complete it without him. She saw the way he blushed again, uncomfortable with such praise, but all she felt was a weak pulsing of her heart. Baras asked to speak to her alone, and Quinn acquiesced immediately. 

“My lord, before I depart, it’s been my extreme honor to serve you. You are the epitome of everything the Empire stands for,” he said. Aila looked at him, looked right through him. 

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” she said quietly. He seemed at a loss for a moment, before he stood at attention, and then was gone. 

Baras droned on a little while longer.

“Comm me when you return to your ship. I’ll have your next assignment ready,” he said, and then he was gone, disconnecting at his leisure. 

“Too many idiots in one room,” Vette said. “I’ve got a headache.” 

“Hopefully getting off this wretched planet will improve your mood,” Aila muttered. Vette frowned. 

“That depends entirely on how you react to Nar Shaddaa,” she said. Aila felt her shoulders drop.

“I guess we’ll see,” she said. 

When they arrived at the hanger they found Quinn waiting for them. He said Lord Baras had given him leave to work anywhere he wanted, and that he wanted to work with Aila. Aila was genuinely surprised. She would have thought Quinn had enough of her alien ways, and was ready to return to the true Empire. 

“I cannot think of a more glorious and more honorable way to make a difference in the galaxy than to serve you. I’m here to pledge myself to you.” He dropped to one knee, and Aila heard Vette suck in a surprised gasp behind her. “I’m ready and willing to serve in whatever capacity you see fit.”

It made Aila uncomfortable, the deference. It reminded her too much of servitude. She didn’t want the people in her charge to act like servants. Though, perhaps that was just Quinn’s character. Regardless, she didn’t like it. 

“My lord, if given the chance I  _ know _ I will prove myself to you,” Quinn said. He went on to list his qualifications for the job as her pilot and second in command. Aila found herself liking this situation less and less. Vette and Quinn were both older than her, she didn’t feel like their superior in the slightest, and yet here Quinn was, taking a knee and pledging his life to hers in service. 

“I have no doubt you will, Lieutenant,” Aila said. “You are welcome aboard.” 

She brushed past him quickly, and let Vette deal with the introductions to the ship. As soon as she stepped inside she commed Baras to receive her newest instructions. A trip to Nar Shaddaa to kill another of Baras’s spies. She turned off the comm just as she heard Vette’s voice come closer. She made herself scarce and barricaded herself in her quarters. 

She needed to speak with Quinn, and quickly. She couldn’t have a man serving under her who admired the elitism her connections brought him, but who disliked her very nature. She took a deep breath and spared a moment in the mirror. 

Her hair was awry, thick black strands falling from it’s elegantly pinned back style. She pulled the pins and tie from their rigid places, and let her hair tumble down her back in waves, sighing happily as it finally fell loose. 

Her hair was very long and thick, reaching down to the small of her back. She kept it long to allow herself the ability to style it in the modern Dromund Kaas fashions. She’d been bullied at the Sith Academy for having short hair as a child, and so she hadn’t let herself cut it in years. Now it was endless black waves, and she could style it however the Kaassians did. She wondered if she should greet Quinn like this, looking wild and unkempt. Perhaps it would shock the truth out of him. 

But no, that wasn’t what she wanted. Instead Aila meticulously pinned the hair back in place, and wrapped the last of it up in a bun that sat at the back of her head. It was big and spiraled, very fashionable. She let the shorter clumps sit out of the bun in front of her ears, where they fell in neat spirals from her head. 

She assessed her armor critically, and found her apprentices' armor to be somewhat wanting for fashionability. It was black and red and gray and molded near skin-tightly to her body, a little loincloth laying over front and back of her waist. It was ugly and rudimentary, but it was all she had. Perhaps Nar Shaddaa would offer a wider array of choices. 

She stepped out of her quarters and set about searching the ship for Quinn. She found him at the bridge.

“My lord,” he greeted when he saw her. 

“I really do prefer Aila,” she said uselessly. 

“Of course, my lord,” Quinn replied. Aila sighed. 

“How are you settling in?” She asked. 

“Quite nicely, my lord. I have transferred my belongings to my quarters and should you check you’ll find them in pristine condition.”

“Trying to get me into your bedroom, Quinn?” She asked, a momentary lapse in her rigid self defense. Quinn looked sharply at her. 

“Of course not, my lord,” he said. “I simply mean to demonstrate my efficiency and cleanliness.” 

Aila sighed. She had to have this conversation with him now, before he grew any more settled. 

“Lieutenant, I have to ask you something,” she said. 

“Yes, my lord?” 

She looked closely at him, watching his aura for any minute change. 

“I need to know if you’re uncomfortable with the fact that I’m not human,” she said. Quinn looked genuinely taken aback. 

“Of course not!” He said vehemently. To her surprise his aura shifted to the hotness of indignance, not the chill of a lie. 

“Are you certain?” She asked. He seemed to stand straighter. 

“I’m not certain how I’ve given you this impression, but I assure you it was entirely unintentional. I judge and value people based on their ability, not their genetics,” he said. There was a vehemence to it that spoke of honest indignity, and Aila found that she believed him. She took a step closer.

“Then it wouldn’t bother you if I said that your electrons taste like lightning and waterfalls?” She asked. He grew pink again, and she smiled. 

“Perhaps not, my lord,” he said. She smiled wider. 

“I’m glad,” she said. 

“Though, if I might ask, what exactly do you mean when you say my aura?” Quinn asked. 

“As a military man, I’m sure you’re aware of the Killik population on Alderaan,” she said. Quinn nodded. 

“Yes, my lord. They are the native species of Alderaan. A hive mind, sentient, and semi-civilized. They have caused quite a problem on Alderaan, if I remember correctly, though as far as I know the Empire does have a peace treaty with them,” he said. Aila nodded. 

“Yes, a peace treaty that was negotiated by my father, Vector Hyllus. He was an imperial diplomat. He was turned into a Killik Joiner.”

Quinn’s eyes shot to his forehead. 

“Fascinating. I’ve never met a Joiner before,” he said. 

“Yes, well, I am the only child of a Joiner and a non-killik in the galaxy. When I was born I inherited my father’s senses. I’m not a Joiner myself, but I do see the world differently. I see it the way a Joiner would. When I talk about your aura, your song, they’re the Killik words for a sort of empathic connection to the world. I can feel and see your emotions living around you,” she said. She took another step closer and Quinn didn’t move, his eyes locked on hers. 

“The Killiks see using pheromones,” she said. “I’m not as skilled at it as they are, since I’m not part of the nest, but I can still feel you.”

She raised a hand to his cheek. His violently pink cheek. 

“Your electrons are excited,” she said softly. And then suddenly, as if the spell had broken, he cleared his throat and stepped back sharply. 

“Right, well, of course, my lord. I’ll just- return to my duties if you don’t mind.”

Aila tried not to be disappointed. If it wasn’t her alien nature that bothered Quinn, then perhaps it was the unprofessionalism of flirting with a Sith Lord, and his superior.  _ Military men are so strict _ , she thought bitterly. 

“Well if you’re half as good at your job as you are avoiding my advances, I’m sure my ship’s in good hands,” she told him. 

“Right- yes- well, I promise not to disappoint, my lord.”

She frowned again. 

“How many times am I going to have to tell you to call me Aila?” She asked. 

“At least once more, my lord.”

Aila sighed and decided not to push it. 

“Well, as you get settled just remember to ask if you need anything. You have nothing to fear from me. Be as candid as you like,” she said. She could tell she had surprised him again, and perhaps one day he’d stop being surprised by her kindness. 

“Of course, my lord.”

Maybe one day he’d even call her by her name. 

She found Vette in the engine room, bobbing her head to Hutta cantina music.

“How’s Lieutenant Tightass settling in?” She asked. Aila sat heavily on an empty chair. 

“That well, huh?”

“He won’t talk to me. I don’t know if he’s scared of me or just strictly professional, but either way it’s irritating.”

Vette frowned and put down her tools. 

“Listen, men like Quinn, they’re tough nuts to crack. They’re the kind of guys you avoid on a con job, because they can’t be bought, or persuaded, or seduced. They’re stupid loyal and twice as stubborn. If you can bring him around to your side he’ll never leave you, but it’s going to be hell getting there,” she said. Aila pursed her lips and slumped back in her chair. 

“I’m utterly exhausted,” she said. Vette snorted. 

“That doesn’t surprise me. We did just spend a week in a war zone.” 

Aila shivered. 

“That place was horrible. It was an endless cacophony of bitter cold and hatred. I’ll not be able to get the smell of blood out of my nose for weeks.” 

Vette fiddled with her toolbox to fill the awkward silence. 

“Well, as much as I’d like to say that it’s a special case, most of the galaxy is like that now. Maybe not so bad as open warfare, but the galaxy is not a nice place,” she said. Aila chewed on her bottom lip as she began to wonder how much of this world she would just have to accept, and how much she could change. The Sith with power were able to bend the galaxy to their will. To gain such power would be a horrible challenge, an experience like no other, but perhaps it was worth it in the end, if it allowed her the ability to change things. 

“Where are you from, anyway?” Vette asked. Aila could read between the lines.  _ Why are you so naive? Where are you from that you’ve become so naive?  _

“I was born on an island on Rishii,” she said. Vette’s eyes bugged out of her head. 

“ _ Rishii? _ You mean planet crime?” 

Aila snorted a laugh. “It’s not quite so bad as that. Actually, for a planet with a lot of legal crime it’s a surprisingly nice place to grow up.” 

“Well now I get why you’re so chill all the time. If I was born on an island I’d probably never shut up about auras either.” 

“It was nice. We lived on the beach, and my Aunt taught me to fire a blaster on the palm fruit,” Aila said. She remembered the first time Kaliyo put a blaster in her hands. Her mother had been furious, but Kaliyo had reasoned with her, told her that if anyone should understand why a woman needed a blaster in this galaxy, it was Cipher Nine. 

“You know, you talk a lot about your dad, and sometimes about your aunt, but I’ve never heard you talk about your mother before,” Vette said suddenly. Aila frowned. 

“Because I can’t,” she said. 

“What you don’t want to?” 

“No,” Aila shook her head. “Because I  _ can’t _ .” 

Vette didn’t seem to understand, but how could she? How could she understand that Aila’s mother was the former Cipher Nine? Was the current leader of the Star Caball? Was the owner of the Black Codex, a codex holding all the deepest darkest secrets in the galaxy? No one would understand, and Aila could tell no one. Her mother’s work was her closest kept secret. If she told even one person then there would always be the risk that her mother would be tracked down and killed. 

She wouldn’t allow that. 

“I don’t understand,” Vette said, proving her point. 

“You don’t have to,” Aila replied. “Just don’t ask me about her again.” 

Vette nodded, unaccustomed to a withholding, short tempered Aila. 

“I’ll be in my quarters if you need me,” Aila said, and all but fled the engine room. 


End file.
